Milo:

I messed with the brace on my left knee, wincing as I moved it around. Still stiff, still not right, but I was getting through it. That injury had been a real slap in the face. One minute, I was on top—thriving, killing it, with a career people could only dream of—and the next, I was laying in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I was going to do with myself.

Those months stuck in recovery? Brutal. Physical therapy was a nightmare—hours of sweating, gritting my teeth, trying to get my muscles to remember how to work again. And the worst part? Watching everyone else move forward while I was stuck in limbo. I was always the guy in the spotlight, always on the move, and suddenly, I was sidelined. It felt like a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from.

But now I was on my way back. Back to Seoul, back to the life I knew, and more fired up than ever. Yeah, the injury set me back, but it also gave me something I hadn’t had in a while—perspective. I had time to think about what I really wanted out of all this—out of life, out of my career. I’m not just the pretty face on stage anymore. I’m someone who’s been through some shit, who’s fought to get back on his feet.

I flexed my leg again, that familiar twinge reminding me it’s not over yet, but I ignored it. No time to feel sorry for myself now. The stage was waiting for me, and I had work to do. If there was one thing I learned from this whole mess, it’s that I could take whatever got thrown my way.

As soon as I got the all-clear from the doctors, I was on a plane back to Seoul. The company needed me back ASAP, and my schedule was already packed with rehearsals, interviews, and everything else that came with the job. I had to get my head back in the game, feel the city’s energy again, and dive back into the life I’d fought so hard to build.

But sitting here, waiting for takeoff, the tension started to creep in. Flying wasn’t exactly my favorite thing. There was something about being stuck in the air, thousands of feet above the ground, that just got to me. My other leg bounced nervously as I tried to distract myself, but the familiar anxiety gnawed at the edges of my mind.

I was lucky to even get a first-class seat. The flight was packed, but the agent at the desk recognized me. She was young, probably a fan, and her eyes lit up the second she saw me. A quick chat, a selfie, and she managed to upgrade me.

Being recognized has its perks sometimes.

Now here I was, sprawled out in a plush first-class seat, my leg stretched out, just waiting for the plane to take off. The cabin was starting to quiet down, the last passengers finally settling in. I leaned back at the window seat, trying to shake off the tension that still clung to me. It had been a rough year, and I was more than ready to get back on stage, back to doing what I loved.

The door to the plane was about to close when something caught my eye—a flash of white. I turned just in time to see her—a freaking bride, of all things—sprinting down the aisle, an oversized black hoodie doing a terrible job of covering up her wedding dress. The train dragged behind her, catching on her feet and nearly tripping her up more than once.

I couldn’t look away. She was a mess—hair falling out of what was probably a neat hairdo, streaks of mascara running down her cheeks like she’d been crying. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the seatbelt, her movements unsteady and frantic, like someone barely keeping it together through whatever chaos was eating at her.

I had hoped that empty seat next to me would've stayed vacant, but that was wishful thinking. Not that the seats were super close together in first class, but I’d wanted to stay as low-key as possible on this flight. Which, of course, wasn’t easy with a few fans sitting back in economy who had already spotted me when they walked by earlier. But the way she wore that oversized hoodie told me she was probably trying to hide, too. Like she had her own stuff going on and wouldn’t be paying attention to me anyway.

I turned my gaze forward, trying not to stare, but my curiosity wouldn’t let it go. Who bolts onto a plane in a wedding dress? Probably a runaway bride. Or some sort of wedding disaster. Whatever her deal was, it had to be something wild.

I shifted in my seat, thinking maybe I should say something, but before I could, the plane’s doors closed with a loud thud, and the cabin crew started their safety announcements. The bride—whoever she was—had just made it.

***

The cabin was quiet, the only sound the low hum of the engines as the plane cruised through the night sky. Most of the passengers were asleep, but not me. I’d been trying, but the dull pain in my leg and the sporadic turbulence kept my anxiety from letting me drift off completely. I was just sitting there, eyes closed, when a faint light next to me caught my attention.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness, and turned to see where the light was coming from. It was the tablet of the woman next to me—the runaway bride. She was wide awake, completely engrossed in whatever she was doing on the screen.

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Curiosity got the better of me, and I leaned over slightly to get a better look. She was drawing—an intricate sketch of a woman in a mirror, wearing what looked like a hanbok, the traditional Korean dress. The details were incredible, from the delicate embroidery on the fabric to the flowing lines of the skirts. But what caught my attention was that the face of the woman in the mirror was blank, completely void of features.

It was eerie, haunting even, and I found myself staring at it longer than I intended.

“You’re really good,” I said quietly, not wanting to startle her but unable to keep my thoughts to myself.

She jumped slightly, clearly not expecting anyone to be awake. “Oh… thanks,” she whispered, her voice soft and a little shaky.

I nodded toward the drawing. “Why no face?”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the screen. “I… I’m not sure yet,” she finally admitted. “I guess I don’t know who she is.”

Her answer intrigued me. “Is it something from your head, or are you drawing someone you know?”

She looked at the drawing again. “A bit of both, maybe. I don’t know… I just started drawing and this came out.”

I studied her for a moment, the way she was so focused, so lost in her own thoughts. It was clear that whatever she was drawing, it meant something deeper to her.

“Looks like you’ve got some serious talent,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Are you an artist?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, not really. It’s just something I do to… I don’t know… clear my head.”

“Interesting way to clear your head. It's pretty intense for something you thought of on the spot.”

She gave a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah… I guess.”

“Do you have a name for her?”

She looked at the screen. “No,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

I nodded, letting the conversation drift off into the quiet. I didn’t want to push further, but I couldn’t help but wonder what had driven her to draw something so detailed, yet so incomplete.

For a moment, it seemed like that was the end of it, but then she spoke up again, her voice still low. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Ghosts?” The question threw me for a loop. “I mean… I haven’t really thought about it.”

She looked down at the screen again and I felt like I hadn't said the right thing.

“I guess it’s possible, though,” I added. “There’s a lot of weird stuff out there.”

She paused, then looked back at me. “Do you ever feel like there’s something… or someone… watching you? Even when you’re alone?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted, thinking it over. “I’ve had moments where I’ve felt… I don’t know, like there’s more going on than what I can see.”

“That’s how I feel,” she said quietly. “Like there’s something just out of reach, something I can’t quite see, but I know it’s there.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. She seemed so lost, so deep in her own thoughts, that I didn’t want to say the wrong thing again and make it worse.

“You know,” I leaned in a little, “I think everyone’s got their own ghosts. Maybe not the spooky kind, but the things that haunt us, that we carry around whether we want to or not.”

She seemed to ponder that for a moment, fingers tracing the edge of the iPad. “Maybe… but what if… what if it’s something, trying to warn you… like a sort of foreboding?”

“Like, you think something bad is about to happen?”

Her eyes seemed distant. “Yeah… like a warning, something you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to.”

That caught me off guard. This wasn’t just idle talk—this was something she’d seemed to have been thinking about, maybe even fearing. I glanced at the faceless woman on her screen, wondering if that was what this drawing was—a reflection of something she couldn’t shake.

“Has something like that happened to you?”

She hesitated, then nodded slightly. “I think so… I don’t know. After the day I've had, I don't know what to think anymore."

I watched her for a moment, sensing the weight behind her words. The tablet's glow casted soft shadows on her face, highlighting the traces of exhaustion and something deeper—something that seemed to have been gnawing at her long before she boarded this plane.

I couldn’t avoid the question any more. “So… the wedding dress. What’s the story there?”

Her hand stilled on the screen, and for a second, I thought she might not answer. She stared at the drawing, the faceless woman reflecting back at her, and sighed.

“Let’s just say I didn’t exactly make it to the altar,” she said. “I found out some things… about the guy I was supposed to marry. Things I couldn’t ignore. So I ran.”

I nodded, not wanting to interrupt. The way she said it made it clear there was more to the story.

“I didn’t know where to go,” she continued, almost to herself. “I just needed to get away.”

Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, it was like she wasn’t even on the plane anymore, seeming lost in the memories of whatever had driven her to run. I could see how tired she was, the way her shoulders slumped just a little, like the weight of the day seemed to finally catch up to her.

She blinked and shook her head. “Sorry,” she muttered, giving a half-hearted laugh. “You probably don’t want to hear all this. I’m sure the last thing you need is to be bored to death by a total stranger’s nightmare of a day.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking my head. “Don’t worry about it. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Was that because of me?”

“Nah,” I waved it off. “Just an old injury keeping me up.”

“Is it bad?”

“No need to worry about it. I’ll be fine. If anything, talking to you keeps my mind off it.”

A small smile curved her lips as she held out her hand. “I’m Orla by the way.”

“Milo,” I replied, taking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

We settled back into our seats, a comfortable silence hanging between us. I found myself replaying her name in my head—Orla. It wasn’t a name I’d heard before, and I wondered where it came from, what it meant. It had a certain ring to it, something unique that seemed to fit her perfectly.

I glanced over at her, noticing how the tension in her face had seemed to ease just a little. Despite everything she’d been through, there was something about her that was calming. The anxiety that had been gnawing at me since I boarded the flight started to fade, the nervous energy slipping into the background. I couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting her wasn’t just some random coincidence, but maybe something more.